


i know i'm home when i see you dancing

by postfixrevolution



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Chrom/Olivia, Mother/Son Bonding, Sibling Bonding, Vignettes, cousin bonding, happy (late) birthday to inigo my love and favorite awakening boy~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7712188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>he could be lost a thousand times and not care at all, because as long as he has dance, he'll always be able to find himself</p>
            </blockquote>





	i know i'm home when i see you dancing

**Author's Note:**

> oops I'm late, but I love Inigo, and I simply couldn't leave him with nothing! Happy birthday to my favorite Awakening boy~
> 
> Unbeta-ed, so forgive any little mistakes, and enjoy!

Inigo hums to himself, a quiet tune with no solid composition, no smooth harmonies nor lilting melodies, but a tune that carries through his arms and legs nonetheless, pulling and bending his sinewy limbs into graceful movements incongruous to his battle-scarred skin and war-hardened muscles. It’s far from fitting to see the mercenary dance with such delicate poise, but the sight is undeniably breathtaking. Cobalt eyes watch him fondly, a barely-there smile pulling up at their owner’s tired lips. The graceful fluidity behind his every move is undeniable, and it with that tired, fond smile that Lucina speaks to him.

“Mother would be proud of you,” she says, uncharacteristically soft.

At her words, he stills in his movements, steel grey eyes widening as they turn to face her. Protest and denials and reflexive embarrassment jitter excitedly on the tip of his tongue, but at the faraway look in his sister’s eyes, he holds each and every one of them back.

They used to have a matching set of eyes, he would think to himself, proudly sharing the Ylissean brand that shone in the princess’s left eye and his right, but time has long since shown him that the differences between them are innumerable. There is a ferocity in Lucina’s eyes that can command armies, a heaviness that bears the weight of a falling nation, yet the fire in them refuses refuses, time and time again, to be doused. In his sister’s eyes, Inigo sees strength unparalleled; in his reflection, he sees fear - of death and being forgotten, of losing those he has and sharing the one talent he’s still lucky enough to have.

Inigo exhales a weak laugh, turning his eyes away from Lucina and following her gaze to a familiar, faded headstone, green ivy climbing lazily up its rough grey surface.

“Of me?” he echoes. “I’m just a clumsy dancer with a sword,” he tells her. “I’m not the leader of an army like you are, Lucina. I think she’d be more proud of you than anything.”

Lucina frowns. Her gaze flickers away from their mother’s tombstone to his own eyes, almost an identical shade of grey as the stone.

“Why do you say that?” she asks, staring at him with eyebrows drawn.

“Because you’re a _hero_ , Lucy. To all of our friends _and_ our army.”

Her frown deepens. “That isn’t what I meant, Inigo. Why don’t you think Mother would be proud of you?”

He blinks at her. “What do you--”

“You’re like her in so many ways,” Lucina tells him, staring at him levelly through unblinking cobalt eyes. He stares back. “Grace, kindness, passion… And strength. Just as I am proud to call her my mother, so am I to call you my brother.”

Inigo bristles, opening his mouth to respond, but not a word tumbles out. He is quick to deflate after that, closing his mouth with a heavy sigh, and he turns away from his sister, staring hollowly at the stone slab that once bore their mother’s name, long before it was swallowed up by time and ivy.

“Do you miss her, Lucina?” he asks quietly. There is a brief pause before she responds.

“She’s our mother, Inigo,” the princess responds. “Not a day passes when I don’t long for either of our parents.”

He turns back to face her, a rueful laugh pulling up at the corners of his lips.

“Yes, of course,” he agrees. “And maybe they miss us too, from wherever they are.” Inigo tilts his head up, staring past the dead leaves that still desperately cling to baring branches and up into the smoggy, smoky sky. “Can you hear us? Mother, Father? Do you miss us too?”

Lucina watches him yell up at the sky, a tired, yet sincere smile tugging up at her lips. “I think I can hear them, Inigo,” she tells him with a soft giggle. “Mother’s voice seems the loudest, actually. She’s telling me that your dancing might soon be better than her own!”

His eyes widen, and Inigo exhales a sheepish laugh, averting his eyes to stare at the ground. “She’s just exaggerating,” he tells her dismissively. “My clumsy dancing is nothing like hers.”

“I think I might have to disagree,” Lucina replies. Grey eyes flicker toward her curiously. “You remind me so much of Mother when I see you dance, Inigo,” she tells him sincerely. “Seeing it makes me think, even for just a moment, that we could be at home, once more. All four of us.”

“Lucina…” Inigo gapes at her, staring for a full few moments before regaining his senses. The smile he offers her is small, tired and war worn, but undeniably bright. “Thank you.”

* * *

 “Inigo?”

With a startled yell, Inigo screeches to a halt mid-move, whipping his head around to meet wide periwinkle eyes and frazzled roseate hair. Olivia releases a similar yelp, and she stares back at her son, wide-eyed at his sudden outburst.

“S-s-sorry, Mother,” Inigo stutters out lamely, hanging his head shamefully. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“That’s a-alright,” the woman replies smally. “I didn’t mean to scare you that much, either!” she adds, laughing timidly. Inigo tilts his head up slightly, and at the soft smile on Olivia’s face, he feels himself relax, exhaling a sheepish laugh of his own. “I was hoping you’d let me sit in on your practice again,” she tells him. “That is! If you don’t mind too much… I know how shy you get.”

Inigo blinks at her, watching as she fiddles restlessly with her braids as she awaits his answer. He doesn’t waste another moment before responding.

“I’m not all that good yet, but who am I to tell my charming mother no?” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing to the small clearing he had been dancing in.

Olivia giggles at his grand gesture, and steps happily forward, kicking off her shoes just as Inigo had earlier, and relishing in the feeling of wispy grass underfoot. “Which dance were you working on this time?” she asks, twirling to face him curiously. “Some of the moves were familiar, but I don’t think I’ve seen that one before.”

“Ah, I suppose you haven’t,” Inigo replies, gliding idly through the clearing with her. “You haven’t taught it to me at this point yet.”

“Oh? I guess that makes sense…”

He hums in agreement, a nostalgic smile pulling up at his lips. “I still don’t know the whole dance, either,” he adds absently. “The you in the future, she taught me a new section every year on my birthday as soon as I was able to walk, so I thought I’d practice again since that day is coming up. I was supposed to know the whole of it by the time I became an adult, but, ah…” He averts his eyes, the corners of his smile wilting a bit. “We never quite made it that far.”

A soft gasp escapes her lips, and Inigo’s gaze flickers toward her just quick enough to catch the wet sheen in her eyes before she launches forward, nearly bowling him over with the force of her hug. He catches her with wide eyes and a quick shout of surprise, but winds his arms around her just as Olivia does to him, burying herself in his chest.

“It’s not your fault, really,” he tells her insistently. “And it isn’t my real mother’s fault, either. I could never blame you or her. I never once did.”

She squeezes him even tighter, mumbling against his chest, “You’re so sweet, Inigo; you deserve more than an unfinished dance and bad memories.”

“It’s alright, Mother. I’m here now, and I got to meet you! In person! That more than makes up for anything my past might have been like.”

Olivia tilts her head up, gazing at him with bright periwinkle eyes. She unwinds her arms from around him and takes a step back, drawing in a deep breath and nodding resolutely. Steel grey eyes watch her curiously, and she stares evenly back.

“Let’s finish that dance, Inigo,” she tells him resolutely. He blinks at her for a moment, taken aback by her unwavering determination. “If the other me wasn’t able to teach you all of that dance, then this me is going to do it for her!”

“Mother,” he begins, only to be cut off by Olivia’s firm, “No but’s!”

“It’s the least I can do for you, Inigo,” she continues in a considerably softer tone, beaming at him. “It’ll be a birthday gift to make up for all the other ones I missed. So, show the the dance and we can get started!”

“Haha, I guess there’s no deterring you, is there?” he asks, a breathy laugh coloring the cadence of his words. “I’ll show you, but it might not be the best performance you’ll see…”

“Nuh uh,” she disagrees, shaking her head fervently. “You’re an amazing dancer, Inigo. I’m sad I didn’t get to see _this_ you practice and grow. Your real mom was a lucky woman.”

Inigo smiles at the thought. “She was amazing,” he agrees, “but no more better than you.”

Olivia giggles, grinning her brightest grin. “Thank you, Inigo,” she tells him sincerely. “Now, shall we dance?”

* * *

 Laslow dances a circle around the small glade, leaving tracks in the wispy grass and small blemishes as he stops for a moment in his traipsing and leaps into a pirouette, spinning deftly through the air. He lands agilely on his feet, just barely short of breath, and with a small smile, he turns immediately to his left, toward the trees that surround him.

“Is it really necessary to hide like that, old friend?” he asks into the bushes, and when they start to rustle in response, he puffs out a breathy laugh. A familiar head of blond hair pokes out from the foliage, and Odin stumbles out into the clearing, twigs and leaves caught in his golden-straw hair and the yellow and black fabric of his casual tunic.

“Odin Dark would never stoop to so lowly a tactic as hiding!” he exclaims, brushing twigs off his clothes and blowing leaves out of his bangs. As soon as his person is relatively clear of foliage, he places both hands on his hips, posing dramatically. “That you would dare suggest such a thing; I am deeply wounded, my dearest cousin.

Laslow snorts. “Sure thing, Odin,” he laughs amiably. “If you weren’t hiding, then tell me; what _is_ it that you were doing in those bushes?”

Odin makes a great deal of scoffing. “Is it not obvious?” he asks. “I was sent here, in the most simple of terms, to stake out the nefarious plans that Laslow of the Azure Skies had planned for this fateful autumn day! Little did I know, however, that I might happen upon him dancing instead. Fate truly does work in mysterious ways.”

“Were you really that surprised to see me dancing?” Laslow questions, tilting his head quizzically. “I do this almost all the time, after all. Especially during this time of year, as well.”

“Hah, I suppose that’s right,” Odin concedes. “I must admit, though; it has been a long while indeed since I had last seen that particular dance performed.” He pauses a moment in his postulating, a fond smile blooming across his features. “It brings back memories, not only of our original home, but the second one we were able to find as well, so similar yet so much brighter than the desolate timeline we knew before.”

A similar smile pulls up at Laslow’s lips, too, and he twirls away from his companion, lazily walking through the steps of the dance as he speaks. “I know what you mean. It reminds me of everyone, my mother especially.” He sighs, slowing to a stop right before the dance’s second pirouette. “I regret not being able to perform with her one last time before we went. If only I had been more confident. I would have liked to give her and everyone at least that memory.”

Hazel eyes stare at the mercenary, scrutinizing the once-cobalt, raincloud grey hair and his dull steel eyes, devoid of the brand that once marked Odin’s own skin, some countless time and a world away. “You sigh as though you left them with no memory at all, my friend!” he exclaims, and steel grey eyes turn to him curiously. “You’re wrong, though.”

“Odin, I--”

“Silence, Laslow, for we both know that I speak only the truth in this matter!” His eyes soften as he meets his gaze with Laslow’s, and he places a reassuring hand on his shoulder, offering an unexpectedly reserved smile. “This may shock you to hear, but we’ve all seen you dance, cousin, whether you were aware or not.”

Laslow opens his mouth to respond, the beginnings of an embarrassed blush on his cheeks, but Odin leaves him no space to butt in.

“And all of us have agreed that it is a sight that truly becomes the son of such a renowned pinnacle of dance herself! You truly are a dancer’s son, my friend, and your every graceful movement has been imprinted in the memories of all!”

“Odin,” Laslow interrupts, “you’re just being ridiculous--”

Odin places his other hand on his shoulder, shaking Laslow insistently. “Laslow,” he replies, in the exact same tone. “You worry about the impossible,” he tells him simply. “Just as we have not forgotten our friends, they would never and will never let us fade from their memories. In fact, I bet Cynthia is already pestering Gerome and Morgan into helping her set up a birthday party, just in your honor!”

He releases him, gesturing grandly to the open sky before them.

“Can you not imagine it, Laslow?” he exclaims. “Our friends eagerly await our return. And with the newfound confidence you have found here, the show that you will be able to perform alongside your mother will be the envy of even the gods themselves!”

Laslow exhales a quick laugh, allowing himself a small grin as he pictures the very scene Odin had described, complete with him and his mother finally performing the dance they had created together for the entire camp. The thought expands in his chest, filling him with a familiar warmth he hadn’t felt since he had been home, with his friends and his family so many distant months ago, and he holds onto the feeling dearly.

“To finally be able and perform for all our friends and family with Mother,” he echoes wistfully. “A good a motivation as any to win this war and go back,” he decides, nodding resolutely. Beside him, Odin beams. “I suppose I have to make sure my dancing is up to par when we return, too!” He grabs his companion by the hand, pulling him smoothly into a graceful spin.

“Gah! Inigo, wha--”

“I’ll need a practice partner if I’m to be practicing for a duet with my mother,” he replies with a laugh, flashing his partner a wink. “It’ll be just like when we were kids, Owain. Let’s dance!”


End file.
